


The Wind

by Bolt_DMC



Category: Bolt (2008)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Humor, Movie Reference, Music, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Post-Canon, Sad, Substance Abuse, Suggestive Themes, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-09-29 14:39:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20437691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bolt_DMC/pseuds/Bolt_DMC
Summary: Bolt falls in love for the first time, but things do not go as planned. Primary cultural references to George Gershwin's opera "Porgy and Bess" and the Jimi Hendrix pop standard "The Wind Cries Mary," as well as the Derek and the Dominoes album "Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs," the comic strip "The Dogs of C Kennel," songs by Roy Orbison and Roxy Music, and films such as "There's Something about Mary" and "Sid and Nancy" and "Days of Wine and Roses."





	The Wind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Plonq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plonq/gifts).

> Timeline: March 2010.
> 
> For Plonq and Atara.

Part I: Whispers

1.

Spring had arrived early, and any hints of cold were a couple weeks gone by now. Bolt was out in the yard, giving his Mr. Carrot squeaky toy a good death-grip shake, when the wind picked up from the north -- and carried along with it was a scent he didn't recognize. Despite his living in the country, there were few actual working farms nearby, and Bolt ordinarily knew the odors coming from them: cows, poultry, horses, and sheep mostly with the occasional house pet thrown in. There surprisingly weren't many dogs in the area, and Bolt was well acquainted with them. There was the border collie down the road to the west, whose obsessive herding instincts had become tiresome in short order. An old, fat dalmatian lived a couple miles further along, but she was lethargic, hard of hearing, and gradually going blind -- a nice enough elderly matron, but their differences in age and activity level had proven a barrier to further friendship. And a few houses south of him was the Boston terrier who seemingly never went outside and snobbishly considered himself far superior to the likes of Bolt. No matter -- Penny, her mom, Mittens, and Rhino provided all the company he needed.

This north wind scent seemed promising, though, and Bolt felt like exploring. He dropped Mr. Carrot in mid-tussle and trotted in that direction along the dirt road. The day was lovely, with only a few puffy clouds. Wildflowers had already begun to bloom along the roadside, sprinkling the green fields with specks of blue, yellow, and pink.

He reached one of the few working farms in the area better than a mile or so down the road, and in front of the farmhouse he spotted the source of the unfamiliar scent. It was a dog he had never seen before, a female beagle probably no more than two years old. Her coloring was that of the classic tri type, brown and white with a black saddle. About the same size as Bolt, she carried herself with a certain hesitancy. And despite her thin and scruffy appearance, she was an attractive animal, one who would probably flourish in a rural setting with plenty of exercise, good food, and regular grooming.

Bolt was smitten the minute he saw her. He had never experienced such a feeling before; spending most of his life cooped up in a movie studio trailer had pretty much assured this. Despite an eager desire to approach her, though, he decided to make a more understated first impression.

"Hello there!" Bolt called out cheerfully. "Welcome to the neighborhood!" He ambled up as nonchalantly as he could manage, then sat across from her. How successful he was at suppressing what was likely a big goofy grin he couldn't tell, though his thumping tail gave away his feelings clearly enough. "Haven't seen you around before."

The beagle gave him a smile. "Oh, hi. Yeah -- yeah -- I'm new here. My name’s Mary. Who are you?"

"I’m Bolt," he replied. "My human’s house is about a mile south of here, but I often get up this way. Good exercise going for a long run, you know."

"You look like you’re in great shape," Mary said, eyeing the new stranger with interest. "All that running appears to be paying off. You cut a handsome figure."

"Wow," Bolt thought. "Seems like things are off to a good start. Noticing my dogly physique -- very promising." He replied with a chuckle, "You’ll love this country living. Plenty of fresh air and healthy food. It's done me lots of good. It’d be great to come by and visit, maybe, oh I dunno, get in some conditioning runs or something together."

"Sounds perfect," Mary grinned. "Anytime is fine. How about we walk a little first, though, build me up some. I could use it. I feel like a scruffy mess."

"Heck no -- you look great to me," Bolt said, trying to reassure her.

"Nah, not really," she whimpered dejectedly. "I was a street stray in the city until recently. The humans here just adopted me out of the shelter a couple days ago. But yeah, good clean living should straighten me right out."

"Let's go for that walk," replied the little shepherd. "And we’ll get to know each other better."

True to his word, Bolt began coming by to see Mary on a regular basis -- and perhaps not surprisingly, sparks began flying between them in no time. Sneaking into the barn, tumbling into the fields, stealing under the porch -- Bolt was discovering his passionate urges in a big way. This was unexplored territory for him, and he wondered how he has lived so long without experiencing such pleasure.

2.

It was now better than a week since Bolt and Mary had first met. Meanwhile, Mittens had pretty much run through her cat repertoire for the day. She had played with her yarn ball, listened to music, taken a snooze, looked at the passing clouds outside the window, and batted around an unlucky spider that had dared wander indoors -- and she was now thoroughly bored. "TV time," she thought. "The opiate of the masses. Or at least that's what some wiseguy thought way back when. Let's see what's on."

Penny’s mom and Rhino had beaten her to it, and to her surprise, they were watching a staged opera production on public television. That actually made sense regarding Penny’s culture maven mom, but the hamster as well? In her experience, Rhino and opera only came together in Bugs Bunny cartoons.

"You're watching opera, rodent? Wow, isn't that one of the seven signs of the apocalypse?" quipped Mittens.

"Shhhhh," whispered the hamster theatrically. "It's Gershwin’s ‘Porgy and Bess’. I'm amazed too, but I'm really getting into this."

"Huh," the cat thought. "Sure, why not?" Turned out Mittens thought it was really fine stuff as well.

The cat was not familiar with this particular Gershwin work, though she had heard various one-off pieces by other composers that mix classical and jazz successfully, including Igor Stravinsky’s "Ebony Concerto," Milton Babbitt’s "All Set," and Aaron Copland’s Concerto for Clarinet and String Orchestra. But composers who made a career of fusing the two idioms were few, and George Gershwin was the major exception. Pieces such as the Piano Concerto in F, "An American in Paris," "Rhapsody in Blue," and the tiny Piano Preludes are all justly famous, but "Porgy and Bess" was his most ambitious essay. Besides being the source for several fine vocal numbers such as "Bess, You Is My Woman Now," "It Ain't Necessarily So," "Oh Lord, I'm On My Way," and the most famous of all, "Summertime," it's a well-constructed, sophisticated piece of music theater. The plot is raw but riveting; set in the early 20th century Black slums of Charleston, it tells the story of a love triangle between earnest disabled street beggar Porgy, sultry but sketchy Bess, and her violently possessive boyfriend Crown. As in most non-comic operas, things do not go smoothly and the love story is not happily resolved. Plus there are some who have found aspects of its depiction of African-Americans controversial over the years. No matter -- the work remains a top-notch, well respected opera and a repertoire staple. Gershwin, to his credit, insisted from day one that the all-Black vocal cast be sung by African-Americans (never by people in blackface, as was often the case back then) and worked hard to portray his characters with depth and sincerity.

"Really liked that!" gushed the hamster after the program ended.

Mittens concurred. "Didn't know what to expect, but yeah, that was something."

They were interrupted by Bolt, who had just popped in via the doggy door. Sporting a huge smile on his face and a frisky bounce to his stride, he was singing something under his breath in nonsense syllables: "Daah-daah. Daah-dit-daah. Tum-ta-ta-tum-ta-ta-tut-taah-taah."

The cat recognized the tune right away, "Love Is the Drug" by Roxy Music (perhaps not this group’s finest moment compared to the albums "Country Life," "Stranded," and "For Your Pleasure," but it remains the group's most successful US single). She grinned and said, "Wags, if you had any more spring in your step, you’d have Slinkys tied to your feet."

Rhino knew exactly what was going on. "You lucky dog you," he remarked with a conspiratorial wink. "Details… details… c’mon spill all, buddy. You know you can't resist."

"Why, Rhino!" replied the pooch with just a tad too much indignation. "Don't you know a gentleman never kisses and tells?"

When a frown began to cross the hamster’s face, though, Bolt smiled again, this time in a very naughty manner. "…so, it’s a good thing I’m a dog and not a gentleman."

"What a hound!" laughed Rhino, bouncing up and down with glee.

Mittens grimaced wryly and shook her head. "Ah-hah," she chortled. "Well, being the testosterone challenged one of our merry little trio, I think I'll just take a wander in the yard and let you two playboys find a nice locker room to gossip in. Tah-tah!" Dog and hamster strolled into the den for a heart-to-heart.

"Just so you know, we’ll have to wrap up our chat by 7 o’clock," said Rhino to Bolt. "Turns out there’s a great twofer on the classic movie channel tonight -- ‘Days of Wine and Roses’ and ‘Sid and Nancy’. An addiction doubleheader, I guess you could say."

"Sheesh," thought Mittens, though not entirely disapprovingly, as she headed outdoors. "Guys! All those two goobers need are a couple of wet towels to snap at each other’s heinies."

Part II: Cries

1.

Bolt and Mary had been seeing each other nearly every day now for the last two weeks, and while there were many things he loved about their time together, things were not ideal exactly.

For one thing, he was discovering that you can indeed get too much of a good thing, even something as amazing as sex. In fact, there were times when he simply wanted to cuddle the beagle playfully, or just talk about things that were on his mind. Worse yet, he found himself getting very sore in places that had initially felt just heavenly. "Urgh!" he said at one point to himself. "I’m flesh and blood, not a darned machine." And Mary was pretty much insatiable.

Most worrisome of all was Mary’s appearance. Despite their getting in good exercise runs daily and the quality chow she had been consuming, the beagle still seemed scruffy, her eyes often circled and bloodshot and her endurance lagging. Some days, she even appeared to be woozy and a bit uncoordinated, other days overly hyperactive. Something was amiss, but he couldn't tell exactly what.

2.

Bolt lay spent on his back, eyes closed and fur dirty in a bed of lilies after his most recent rendezvous with Mary, who had wandered off to chase rabbits.

"Well, young Romeo, seems like country life suits ya just fine," came a wizened voice at the dog’s feet. He opened his eyes and saw a wiry old orange tabby looking him over with amusement.

"Oh, hello," said the pooch. "Who are you? I’m Bolt, from a few farms over."

"Everybody calls me Old Ben," the cat wheezed. "Been enjoyin’ yourself, looks like."

"Well, sure -- you know how it is," the dog said with a confiding grin.

"Can't rightly say I do," replied Old Ben. "Got fixed a long time ago so’s I wouldn't want to roam far from the barn."

"Sorry to hear that," Bolt said earnestly. "Guess you don't know what you're missing."

"Nah, it's no big deal," the cat yawned. "Looks like ya got about all ya can handle right now, anyway. Sometimes it's better not to complicate your life too awful much."

"Yeah, I can see the wisdom in that," winced the little shepherd as he shifted uncomfortably.

Old Ben tilted his head as if listening for something. The wind was picking up and dark clouds had begun to gather to the west. "Hmmmm," he finally said. "Feels like a solid storm's a-brewin’. Might want to get back ‘fore it breaks. Not good to be outside in the lightning and thunder. Want me to say yer goodbyes to Juliet?"

"Sure, thanks," the pooch replied.

"Funny thing about storms in these parts -- the ones that hit hardest are the ones ya don’t see comin’. Good idea maybe to keep yer nose to the wind and heed its warning, know what I’m sayin’?" grumbled Old Ben cryptically.

Bolt hadn’t quite understood what the elderly feline was getting at, but gave him a friendly "Seeya!" in response. He got up and ran, arriving home just in time.

3.

The next day, Bolt showed up at Mary’s farm earlier than usual. And he was surprised at what he saw. The beagle had a few chunks of some kind of pliable substance stashed under the back porch. She brought Bolt over to it, grinning broadly.

"Hey, lover boy, look what I found. It's good stuff -- it’ll make you feel nice. I’ve been snitching it from the kitchen for several days now," she confided.

Bolt sniffed. It was raw bread dough, one of those things he had heard dogs shouldn’t eat. The dough contains live yeast, and when consumed it both swells up the stomach and releases alcohol. In other words, Mary had been for all practical purposes getting drunk.

"Hmmm," he said, looking at the beagle quizzically. "I don't know about that. Dogs aren't supposed to eat this junk. If what I've heard is correct, that is."

Mary glared at him and frowned. "What’re you, a narc or something?" she snapped.

The little shepherd cocked his head in puzzlement. "Well, I don't think so. I haven't a clue what a narc is, and I doubt I can be something if I don't even know what it is… er… I think… " What he said hadn't quite made sense to him, but it would have to do.

"Aw, come on, you big coward. You going to let me get buzzed all by myself?" she whimpered. "That's not very neighborly."

"You’re sure about this, Mary? You've definitely done this before without any problems?" he asked.

The beagle assured him she had -- many times before, in fact.

"Oh well, what's the harm, I guess," Bolt finally said as they chowed down. The stuff tasted awful, all stiff and musty. It should've been a warning sign, but the pooch didn't want to disappoint his girl.

It wasn't long before the dough took effect. Mary rolled on her back and got a silly, vacant look on her face. Bolt’s experience by contrast was not pleasant. He felt bloated and queasy, and when the sky began to spin in a nauseating fashion, he ran to the side of the house with a loud gag. Mary was so preoccupied that she hardly noticed he had gone.

A short while later, Bolt wobbled up to where Mary lay sprawled. He felt awful -- nauseous, wrung out, dehydrated, and fuzzy headed. "Hey, big guy," slurred Mary. "Take me. Right here. Right now."

"Urgh," he groaned. "I feel terrible. I don't know, Mary, I… I don't really think… "

"C’mon, hot stuff," she hiccupped. "You know you want to."

4.

"...and then it got really embarrassing," the shepherd later confided to Rhino. "She wanted me, and, well, you know… "

The hamster grimaced. "Yeah, I gotcha. Happens to guys all the time when they drink too much. But don't worry, just keep your system clean and you'll be okay for the next round."

"Wish she’d been nicer about it," Bolt grumbled. "Though I can't imagine she much liked me throwing up on her, either."

"I’d be a bit worried if she had," muttered Rhino under his breath, though the dog didn’t hear him. The hamster patted the pooch consolingly on the paw, and the two friends went silent for a few minutes.

"Bolt, if you don't mind my asking -- how much do you know about her?" the little rodent finally said. "I dunno, it seems like maybe she’s got a substance abuse issue or something. If she does, that's not the easiest thing to deal with. Not trying to tell you what to do, mind you, it's just… "

"Oh, I'm sure it's nothing she can't handle," interrupted the dog resolutely. "She said she’s done this lots of times before and never had a problem. Besides, even if she does have a problem, I'm sure I can help her out of it."

The hamster knew it wasn't wise to belabor the point. Bolt’s strong rescue instincts had already started kicking in, and further discussion would just alienate his friend. "He'll have to learn this lesson for himself -- and if I know him, it’ll be the hard way," thought Rhino.

5.

When Bolt stopped by to visit the beagle the next day, he initially couldn't find her. But it didn't take long before he heard her voice, yowling in a singsong way some sort of nonsense about dumpsters and lemonade. Mary was slouched awkwardly in the barn with a vacant look on her face, next to a bin that had been thoroughly broken into. Various sized white pills lay strewn at her feet and around the shattered box. She didn't seem to notice him, continuing to babble about dodo birds and zippers.

Bolt fled, not sure what to make of all this. "Okay -- okay," he finally decided. "I'll get in a good run and come back in a couple hours to check up on her. She needs me."

When he returned, he found Mary crying profusely. "What's wrong?" asked the little shepherd. "I don't like seeing you so sad. How can I help? There must be something I can do."

She sniffed through the tears. "Bolt, I’m a mess," she said finally. "And I need a big, strong rock like you to save me. Tell me you love me," she whimpered, shooting a pitiable look at him.

"Don't worry," he replied. "Sure -- sure -- I love you. I'll help any way I can."

Mary smiled wanly at him and they disappeared into the barn behind a bale of hay.

6.

The beagle’s new owners eventually figured out that something was amiss; as a result, bread dough was now hidden away in a bin, prescription medications were relocated to high shelves, and horse tranquilizers found a new home in a heavy, padlocked metal container. Bolt kept his word, returning daily to the farm trying to distract Mary from mind-altering temptation. They ran, talked, made love, and explored every inch of the farm over the next few days -- and the beagle was there by the driveway opening each time, waiting for him to arrive.

Until she wasn’t.

Bolt knew something was wrong when he came by that day and Mary was nowhere to be found. He checked the fields, the barn, and the back porch, becoming increasingly more anxious when she didn’t turn up. There were other animals around, and the dog asked all he encountered. No, none of the cows, sheep, chickens, or ducks had any idea what had happened to her. Finally, Old Ben ambled out of the barn and up to the little shepherd.

"Well, let’s see," he wheezed. "Last I seen her was late yesterday afternoon, just a mite after ya left. Seemed all riled up, said she felt awful and needed a pick-me-up. Couldn’t take it no more, she was sayin’. Not smart messin’ with pills and junk. Had an uncle who fooled around with those things and… "

"Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Bad stuff," said Bolt impatiently. "Did she leave? Did she say where she was going?"

"Hold on there, Romeo," the cat replied, "Memory’s not as sharp as it used to be. Now, lemme think… "

Bolt fidgeted nervously waiting for Old Ben to gather his thoughts. "Oh yeah, now I recollect. She said she was gonna head back to the city. Said she has friends there who can fix her up with what she needs. I think she was sayin’ something about the alley behind Urban Angels. Ya know, that big animal hospital downtown? Lots of strays there, she was sayin’," offered the old cat finally.

"Thanks, appreciate it," the pooch replied.

7.

Unfortunately, neither Mittens nor Rhino were much help with advice. Or at least with advice Bolt wanted to hear.

"I dunno, Wags," said the cat. "It’s really tough to get somebody like that to do what’s best for themselves. She seems like someone who needs a twelve-step program to help her dry out. Maybe twenty-four steps in her case. Sounds like she’s an addict who’s got it bad. Bolt, you just can’t rescue somebody with problems like this -- they’ve got to do it themselves."

Rhino nodded grimly. "Seen it loads of times on all those ‘very special’ TV episodes. And Mittens has it spot-on, pal. Hate to break it to you, but getting sober is hard work and a slow process. Anyway, she’s miles away from here by now, assuming she even made it back okay. What’re you gonna do, run all the way there after her and drag her back by the ear? I think we both know how well that’ll end up."

Bolt hung his head sadly, then turned away without a reply. He stared out the window, not sure what to do.

8.

The dog barely slept that evening, alternating periods of nervous tossing and turning with episodes of wandering in unsettled thought. Looking out the window into blackness didn't help him decide anything. There was nothing to see, nothing to muse on, nothing to clarify things -- just an unvaried void.

Bolt sighed wearily and shook his head. "Mittens sometimes listens to music when she can't doze off," he said to himself finally. "Maybe I'll try it. Might work -- I could sure use the help if it does." He reached into the CD stack, pulled out a disc, and put it on.

Unbeknownst to him, the little shepherd couldn't have chosen a worse option. Regrettably, not every great album works for all moods and occasions. Someone in an angry state will likely not find solace in Elvis Costello's splendid but snarlingly literate discs "This Year's Model" and "Armed Forces." The excellent output of Joy Division is a poor choice for those feeling depressed and suicidal, and that holds especially for their great final release "Closer," complete with its funereal cover art and songs swimming in betrayal, bleakness, and death.

For someone like Bolt, who was suffering from a shattered heart and gut-twisting emotion courtesy of a failed relationship, avoiding the magnificent Derek and the Dominos double album "Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs" is a must. The music for the most part is driven, intense, and vibrant, propelled by arguably the finest duo guitar jam sessions ever recorded, here featuring Eric Clapton and Duane Allman. But the lyrics -- fueled by Clapton's disastrous obsession with Pattie Boyd, at the time married to his close friend George Harrison -- howl with pain and regret, slithering through the gripping music like a rattlesnake through autumn leaves. Song after song addresses love affairs either unrequited or lost, to the point where the singer is willing to crawl across the floor ("Bell Bottom Blues") or beg on his knees ("Layla") to have his love returned. "I Looked Away," "Anyday," "Have You Ever Loved a Woman," "I Am Yours," "Why Does Love Got To Be So Sad," "It's Too Late" -- great songs all, but beyond unhappy in outlook. Even the album's cover version of Jimi Hendrix's "Little Wing" screams from the speakers with grief, in retrospect seeming to lament that great guitarist's death from a drug overdose shortly after the disc's release.

By the time Bolt realized his mistake, it was too late. Like a rubbernecking motorist who can't look away from a horrible highway car crash, the dog couldn't stop listening to lyrics that hit him far too close to home. When the album had reached its final -- and most wrenching -- number, "Thorn Tree in the Garden," the little shepherd was frozen with devastation, eyes staring blankly forward, paws on his head, ears folded back. And this song finished him off like a sucker punch to the solar plexus. He hadn’t wept in a long time -- he prided himself on being a bit of a tough guy, and of course tough guys don't cry -- but this opened his waterworks in a torrent of aching sobs.

The first light of dawn was just filtering through the windows by now. The pooch sniffed back his tears, then set his jaw determinedly. "I'm going to the city," he said. "Mary's coming back with me, and I'm not taking no for an answer even if I have to drag her the whole way. She needs me, and I know I can help her. I can't abandon her now."

He dashed out the doggy door without a word of goodbye to anyone as the sun rose, feeling certain he would succeed in his quest.

Part III: Screams

1.

Bolt arrived in the city at dusk. As he had done during his cross-country trip with Mittens and Rhino, the dog snuck rides on pickup truck beds and train freight cars -- something he was an old hand at by now. Finding the Urban Angels animal hospital proved more of a challenge, though he did so by mid-evening. He roamed around the alleys surrounding the clinic, attracting stares from the stray dogs living there, until he finally encountered Mary.

The beagle had reverted fully to her scruffy, unkempt appearance and she seemed nervous, jittery, and out-of-sorts. "Bolt!" she gasped. "Is that you? What're you doing out here?"

"You don't need to worry, Mary," Bolt tried to reassure her. "I'm here for you now. And I've come to take you back with me. I'll dry you out and return you to peak condition. Everything will be all right."

"Um -- gee -- uh -- Bolt," said Mary hesitantly. "I dunno if that's… that's such a good idea."

"I don't understand," the little shepherd replied. "What's the matter?"

"Look, we… we had a great time together, big guy," the beagle began. "Don't get me wrong, it was fun. But I -- I just don't know how I'm feeling or what I want right now. I… "

"Hey, what's goin’ on, babe?" came a surly voice from behind Bolt. "Who is this guy, anyways? You been two-timin’ on me?"

The shepherd spun around to encounter another dog, a smallish male golden retriever about Bolt’s size and weight, with black, soulless eyes and a nasty expression on his face. His ears, forehead, and muzzle bore scars that suggested several dog fights in the past, and his fur was matted and mangy.

"Ike!" Mary said nervously. "No -- no -- he’s just… "

"Yeah, sure," groused Ike irritably. He swatted the beagle in the face so hard she fell over. "Like I’m gonna believe you, you cheatin’ little bitch!"

"Hey!" yelled Bolt. "Leave her alone!"

"Ohhhh -- now I know who you are," the retriever snarled. "You're that goody two-shoes Mary was makin’ time with in the country. Well, scram -- she’s mine now, buster."

"No way. She’s coming with me," Bolt barked back. "I'm gonna clean her up and straighten her out like she was before. So, if you'll excuse us… "

Ike growled. "Yeah? You’re gonna have to drag her through me, you jerk."

"Step aside," Bolt said angrily. "Or you'll be sorry."

By now, a large group of dogs had gathered around Bolt and Ike, forming a circle. The retriever was a tough customer, and not many of the strays had the nerve to stand up to him. To them, this had all the makings of a Colosseum-style fight spectacle.

2.

Ike struck first, jumping at Bolt with teeth bared and claws up. The little shepherd was not fazed, though, and did the same. The resulting dog fight, for any stray who saw it, was a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. Most such fights end after a minute or two, but this lasted nearly fifteen minutes -- an eternity for such things. Bolt and Ike growled, barked, scratched, clawed, and bit each other until they began to falter in exhaustion and pain, then resumed.

Mary quickly scuttled away from the combatants to yet another pooch she saw in the crowd. He was a German shepherd with a rakish, untrustworthy look and a crooked smile.

"Well, well, well, Mary. Looks like you’ve become something of a hot commodity tonight," he said to the beagle, who had sidled up to him.

"I guess so, Sport," she replied offhandedly. "Hey, you got any good stuff hidden away someplace?"

A conspiratorial look crossed Sport’s face as he muttered under his breath. "Yeah -- yeah. I got some stuff. Found some pills in the dumpster behind the clinic. Weird stuff this time, but hey, it’ll get you there. Soooo -- what's in it for me?"

The beagle shot Sport a smoldering look. "Sure -- you got something for me, I got something for you. That's always been our deal."

"Just like old times, eh?" Sport chuckled. "Let's go."

"Right with you," smirked Mary as the two of them took off running down the alley.

Meanwhile, Bolt was beginning to get the worst of the fight. He felt dazed and fuzzy headed.

"All right, you big hero creep!" yelled Ike. "Time to end this once and for all." He lowered his head and charged at his helpless adversary, intending to ram him into the brick wall behind.

Luckily, the shepherd cleared his head at the last minute. Vaguely remembering what he had done when begging for food scraps with Mittens on their cross-country trip, he spun quickly onto his back just out of the way of the attacking retriever. Ike never looked up to realize Bolt had rolled out of reach and crashed headfirst into the brick wall. A sickening crack reverberated through the alley as Ike dropped on his stomach like a sack of cannonballs, landing face first into a pothole filled with murky water. He didn't move after that.

Bolt was cut, bruised, hurt, and exhausted, but still alive, passing out shortly after Ike’s collapse. The strays for the most part melted away into the darker recesses of the alley.

3.

Only five dogs remained behind, a female chocolate beagle and four males, one each of a pit bull, husky, schnauzer, and chihuahua.

"Wow -- some fight, huh?" the husky said.

"Yeah. I'm amazed anybody's still breathing after that one," offered the schnauzer.

"Too bad," murmured the chocolate beagle. "The white one’s kinda cute."

The schnauzer patted the husky on the shoulder. The latter had had an unrequited crush of long standing on the beagle, and a sad look crossed his face. "Can’t win, can you buddy," said the schnauzer consolingly.

"What were they fighting about?" asked the chihuahua.

"I think it was that tri color beagle named Mary," mused the pit bull.

"You know her, huh?" the chocolate beagle said in surprise.

"Yeah, you might say I do," the pit bull replied. He grinned impishly and wagged his tail -- as did the husky, chihuahua, and schnauzer.

The chocolate beagle rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Sheesh! Guys… " she thought. "That Mary really gets around, doesn’t she... "

The pit bull wandered over to the two combatants. "Hey," he said, looking at Bolt with concern. "This guy's still breathing. Looks like he's wearing a collar -- and a tag, too. He’s no stray -- he’s somebody’s pet. We should get him to the clinic, on the double. His humans will surely be willing to foot the bill for him." He gestured to the husky and said, "Come over here. We’ll put him on your back, and you bring him to the hospital."

"What about the retriever?" asked the chihuahua.

"Nah -- I don't think anybody can help him," said the pit bull.

They put Bolt on the husky’s back and carried him into the clinic, leaving him by the desk and scattering back to the sidewalk after woofing an alarm.

"Quick!" yelled the nurse on desk duty. "Call a veterinarian in here. This dog’s hurt… "

"Ugh," said the pit bull once back outside. "We've been out of the kennel for a week, and I’ve hated every minute. I say we go back."

"But we spent six months digging that tunnel!" moaned the husky. "What’re you saying -- we crawl back in and refill the hole?"

"Beats all the vermin and hunger we've encountered," said the schnauzer. "I'm with you, my friend… "

The five dogs headed down the street towards a big hole dug in the ground and disappeared inside it.

4.

Bolt lay on a small bed in the animal hospital. He had just come from x-ray and minor surgery sessions, but under the circumstances, he was lucky. The shepherd had suffered a concussion; hairline fractures in his back, two legs, and a paw; and multiple bruises, cuts, scrapes, and bites, a few of which required stitches. Things could've been worse, though.

The pooch was heavily sedated and full of painkillers, wrapped in a loose full body cast so he wouldn't bite open his stitches or re-fracture his cracked bones. He awoke in a groggy state, hearing music; Roy Orbison’s gorgeous and doleful ballads to lost love, "It’s Over" and "In Dreams," wafted back-to-back from an overhead speaker. The clinic felt it was beneficial to play quiet tunes through an in-house music system to provide a calm, soothing effect for its patients, though neither song was the optimal choice for Bolt right now. Surprisingly, what followed were a few Jimi Hendrix selections that sat better with him. One was the bluesy, laid back melody "The Wind Cries Mary." The other was a track he recognized from the "Layla" album, Hendrix’s own rendition of "Little Wing." It was surprising how different this version was from the howling Derek and the Dominos cover, too -- quiet and funky, a far better fit for the playful lyrics. "Huh," thought Bolt. "Maybe this is how love really should be -- not intense and flamboyant, but laid back and comfortable. Makes more sense."

A huge storm was raging outside, though the dog could just hear a few traces of it. The wind and rain thrummed, hailstones crashed, thunder crackled. There was even a report of a small tornado in the city's outskirts. But Bolt lay warm, dry, and safe in the bed. He slowly lost consciousness, perhaps mercifully so given his circumstances. And he dreamed of his home and family.

Part IV: Cries

1.

The little shepherd remembered nothing more until coming to at the farmhouse the next day. Mittens and Rhino were looking intently at him as he awoke.

"You went after her, huh? Somehow I'm not surprised," the cat said. "Saw it coming a mile away. Rhino wasn't so sure but yeah, I figured it would happen. Hey rodent, you owe me a box of cat treats, remember? No way you’re gonna welch on that little bet we had."

The hamster looked at the pooch and grinned. "Hey Mittens," he laughed. "Doesn't Bolt look like Puffy, that dog all wrapped up in a full body cast from the movie ‘There’s Something About… "

Mittens glared at him. "Not funny, pal," she said shaking her paw.

Rhino’s grin turned sheepish. "Er, would you accept ‘The Mummy Returns’ as an alternative?"

Bolt would be on the mend over the next two months, with Penny helping him through everything from start to finish. Interestingly enough, there was at least one benefit derived from all this -- it would be the start of a new career path for the girl. By nursing the poor dog back to health, she realized that becoming a veterinarian would be her calling in life.

The shepherd was good as new physically after those two months. He learned several valuable lessons from all this as well. For starters, you can’t rescue someone who isn’t ready to be saved -- especially someone with substance abuse issues. Love that runs bright and hot burns itself out quickly -- warm, slow smoldering embers last far longer and throw more heat. You can’t prevent people from making their own dumb mistakes, and taking on somebody else’s problems as your own is a losing proposition. Lastly, you can't force someone to love you -- things like this have to progress organically, not be imposed from without.

The emotional healing for Bolt would take a couple more months past when the physical pain finally ended for him. And even then, when the wind blew just right, he would remember the beagle and his first stab at love.


End file.
